


Flow

by PunkHazard



Series: Sol [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Food Service, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: Another life.





	1. Chapter 1

Heart monitors on television were never quite as maddening as in person– not as loud, not as high-pitched, not as  _persistent_. Genji thought that it’d fade into the background noise of the rest of the hospital weeks ago, his ears so used to the sound that it wouldn’t even register, and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he’d had literally anything else to focus on. Someone to talk to, someone to fill the silence, even a Nintendo handheld of some kind just to provide a different soundtrack to his stay.

The nurses won’t give him a DS, though, and when Hanzo visits he only ever sits, a guilt-ridden presence lingering at the edge of the room for exactly half an hour before he leaves. Twice a day, once before and once after work. Genji hadn’t tried to speak with him and maybe that accounts for the silent treatment, but to be fair he’s been laying on his chest for  _days_ , a collagen sheet laid over his exposed back to help grow back what had been burned away. He’s on too many painkillers to flirt effectively with the nurses, his tattoo’s a mess (mostly gone, actually), and the thought alone of sitting up to play a game on his phone only to have to maneuver into a position to lie back down makes him cringe.

Today, Genji notes through the hazy numbness of Vicodin that Hanzo’s moved closer– has been, for the past few visits, but now he’s close enough to reach. He extends a hand, fingers hooking into the material of Hanzo’s jacket sleeve, and he doesn’t let go when his brother tries gently to disengage it.

“You could stand to talk to me,” Genji complains, heaving a tired sigh. “It’s boring here.”

Hanzo lets a short silence pass before he answers, a cautious, “I didn’t think you would want me to.”

“It’s  _really_  boring here,” Genji says.

Hanzo sits, stiff and awkward. “Do you want me to bring something?” he offers. “I can set up your music player, and speakers.”

“No, it’d be annoying if I couldn’t turn it off or skip songs.” Looking at him, Genji’s expression twists, a note of desperation creeping into his voice past the carefully maintained air of nonchalance he’d been projecting just seconds earlier. “Just talk to me, anija. Please.”

Hanzo frowns. Equally plaintive: “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“How’s the kitchen without me?” Genji prompts, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I know everyone must miss me.”

Hanzo snorts. “Incompetent,” he answers without hesitation, placing Genji’s hand back onto the hospital bed so circulation to his arm won’t be cut off, and he taps thoughtfully on his wrist. “You coddle them too much.”

“I don’t coddle anyone,” retorts Genji.

“You coddle them,” Hanzo insists, “and they can’t stand by themselves when you aren’t there.” In the half hour or so before service when Genji makes his round through the kitchen, he always takes note of which stations are unprepared, what work still needs to be done, and by the time the first customer has taken their seat he’ll have filled in the gaps. Most of the line takes pains not to need his help too often, but a few cooks always rely on him, slacking off even in their regular work with the expectation that Genji will assist them.

“You could help them more,” Genji suggests. 

A scoff. “I have my actual job to do.”

That gets a laugh, short and breathy. He doesn’t react to Hanzo’s hand settling on the back of his head, but Genji buries his face in his own arms, mumbling into the space between them and his bed, “You never were much of a teacher.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Genji quips, turning his face toward his brother, eyes closed, “that’s what chef has me for.  _I’m_  patient and nice.”

Hanzo’s fingers rake through his hair, thumb rubbing idly at a spot behind Genji’s ear, where his roots have begun to show under the bright, cheery green. “Not about that,” he says softly.

“Accidents happen." As if already bored of this conversation, Genji lifts his shoulders in a small shrug, his expression flippant. "It’s alright,” he says.

“The reason we left–”

“The reason we left,” Genji interrupts, “is because our family is  _nuts_." He isn't wrong; when the consequence for refusing to lead is death, even Hanzo couldn't bring himself to fall in line with the requests of their family elders. In the grand scheme of things, a kitchen accident seems tame in comparison to what could have happened. "We’re brothers," Genji continues, a laugh in his voice, "we had a fight. We’re idiots.”

Exhaling, Hanzo pinches Genji’s ear between thumb and forefinger before pulling away and standing up to leave for work. “One of us is, anyway.”

“I’m going to assume you mean yourself,” Genji mumbles, “and I’m not going to disagree.”


	2. Chapter 2

Genji wanders to the counter, eggs in hand, and lays out two bowls while Lúcio dumps soup packets into the pot, two portions of noodles, then cracks the eggs in after. “Hey,” Lúcio says when Genji reaches for a knife and cutting board, “c'mon, you’ve been cooking all day. Let me.”

“Instant ramen has–”

“No nutritional value,” Lúcio interrupts, bumping Genji aside with his hip, “I know, I know. There’s bok choy in the fridge, I’ll throw it in too.”

“Let me get it.”

“No,” Lúcio snaps, diving for the fridge and pulling out a handful of the little cabbages, “you sit.  _Sit_ , I said.” He huffs when Genji backs off but doesn’t sit, quickly running the bok choy under water before he lays them out on the cutting board. He’s seen Genji make this exact “meal” numerous times, something fast and effortless after a long day at work.

Before he even starts to cut, Genji presses up behind him, one hand curling over Lúcio’s on the knife, re-positioning his fingers for a stronger grip. He takes Lúcio’s other hand and gently folds his fingers under, setting the flat of the blade against his knuckles. “How many times do I have to tell you,” he murmurs against Lúcio’s temple, “you will hurt yourself if you don’t hold the knife properly.”

“Maybe I just like it when you correct me,” Lúcio shoots back, turning his head to plant a kiss on Genji’s cheek as the other man wraps his arms around Lúcio’s waist and watches him finish cutting the vegetables.

He’s reaching for the scallions when Genji presses a slow, sucking kiss under his ear, one hand flat on his abdomen and the other sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the material of his shirt. Genji inhales, as if breathing him in, and Lúcio slams his knife to the cutting board, turns, arms curling around Genji’s neck.

Pausing for a second to peer over Lúcio’s shoulder, Genji slides his hands down his thighs, bending to lift him by the knees and ferry him to a counter not littered with food and knives. Setting him down, Genji stands between his legs and steps in close, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before he surges forward, pushing Lúcio onto his back. “I,” Genji whispers between brief kisses, “have wanted to do this all day.”

Lúcio laughs, tilting his head back to give Genji easy access to his neck, his collar. “You spoil me, gatinho.”

Genji grins as Lúcio’s heels dig into the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer. He rolls his hips, laughing softly when Lúcio bites his lip, a soft moan drowned out by Genji’s voice. “That is the idea,” he growls, burying his face against Lúcio’s neck, arms tightening around his waist.

Sitting up after a few seconds, Lúcio pulls Genji’s head to his shoulder and fumbles at his belt, mumbling about clasps and buckles and how if Genji’s going to pay two hundred dollars for a belt he could at least get one that’s easy to take off. Genji stays still, forehead tiredly pressed to Lúcio’s collar, broad shoulders sloped with exhaustion. But however worn out Genji looks, he snaps out of it when he hears the sizzle of an overboiled pot behind him, head whipping around to the source of the noise. “Food first,” he sighs, pulling Lúcio’s hands away and stepping back with a quick peck on his cheek.

Lúcio slides off the counter as Genji portions them each a bowl of noodles, throwing in the greens to wilt in hot soup and quickly slicing the scallions to add as well. He pointedly ignores Lúcio’s disappointed groan, picking up both bowls and transporting them to the table. “You better join me in the shower after this,” Lúcio gripes, picking up the chopsticks Genji sets in front of him.

“I will," says Genji, one socked foot catching Lúcio's ankle under the table, his eyes on the ramen in front of him. Then he looks up, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "I will.”


	3. Chapter 3

One of the many perks of working in the kitchen is occasional free food; moreso for the chefs and back of house than the runners and servers, but if Lúcio’s got anything going for him in Gabe’s kitchen, it’s that one of the sous-chefs favors him (for very understandable reasons). Genji passes him snacks every time he checks in, slipping treats across the pass or morsels of whatever he’s snacking on himself. Cake trimmings, extra desserts and misfired entrees are usually devoured immediately, but Genji always saves him a bit; Lúcio’s put on a not insignificant amount of weight since he began working at Sol, probably a result of eating regularly for the first time in years.

There’s something to be said for dating a sous-chef, and Lúcio’s reminded of it abruptly just after lunch service, while he’s pulling a shot of espresso for Chef Reyes. Genji sidles up next to him, radiating the kind of anticipatory excitement he always does when he has something new to feed him. Lúcio smiles, but keeps his attention turned to the coffee machine.

“Open,” Genji prompts impatiently, and before Lúcio can ask what exactly he’s expected to open, Genji pops a cookie into his mouth. It’s one of Mei’s experiments, buttery and sweet, layers flaking apart as his teeth sink in and crumbs melt on his tongue. He savors it for a long second while the last few drops of espresso trickle into his cup and he hands it to Reyes.

“It’s good,” he says, smiling mildly at the satisfied expression on Genji’s face. “Did you help?”

“Mm.”

“You could’ve just left it on the counter,” Lúcio tells him, smile turning into a full-blown grin as the taller man steps in close and squeezes his upper arm in lieu of something much less appropriate right in front of their employer. Without thinking he blurts, “You just like shoving things in my mouth, don’t you?”

“Lúcio,” Gabe growls in warning, eyes narrowed over the rim of his cup.

“Later,” Genji answers, retreating out of Reyes’s reach but into earshot of his brother, “you can shove something in mine.”

Hanzo immediately hurls a wet rag into his face, reprimanding him with a sharp “ _Genji!_ ” before he shakes his head and returns to work. Gabe chokes on his drink, espresso dripping down the front of his apron as Lúcio throws his head back and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually just a collection of the stuff in the Sol AU that i've posted elsewhere...


End file.
